Stay With Me Awhile
by Hisashi Loves Yelen
Summary: Mitsui Hisashi. MVP. Gangster. Or...just an ordinary guy. Set before he made his comeback. [On-going]
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Slam Dunk isn't mine. 

Warning: Strong language ahead, in later parts, so be forewarned. 

This is angst. Non-yaoi. No romance. No bullshit.   


* * *

Prologue

A lone figure on crutches watched the basketball match from the bleaches. His face was blank and expressionless, and he cheered for neither team. He stood there, watching, not moving even an inch. People glanced at him with curiosity, but he ignored them. Everything else ceased to exist; the spectators, gone. The bench players, faded away. The noise...what noise? There wasn't anyone in the hall, except the players on the court. 

And him. 

All that he focused on was the match. The match that _he_ was supposed to play in. 

Somebody made a dunk, and the crowd cheered, but he paid no attention. His eyes flitted to the score-board. Shohoku was leading. 

By default, he should be glad, but he felt his heart sink. His gaze travelled to the ecstatic players in red, who were forming a circle around the player who made the dunk, cheering him on and congratulating him. That number ten. That gorilla person. That _rookie._ His replacement. 

He felt his fingers clench tightly around his crutches with more pressure than needed at that sight, and at the back of his mind, he realised he was breathing heavily, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore. 

They were winning without him. It was the last half with only two minutes to go. And they had a 10-point lead. 

He was not needed. 

Nobody saw the tears in his eyes, however slight. He blinked them away quickly, in anger at himself for getting worked up, in defiance at the world that dared pity him. And as the players in red scored baskets after baskets, the truth became more and more obvious. 

It taunted him. Jeered at him. Brought an angry flush to his cheeks that could only be categorised as shame. He felt stupid now at the proclamations he'd made only a few weeks ago. He declared that he'd lead his team to the championships, that they need not fear losing now that they had _him_, junior high MVP, onboard as a member. He was full of confidence, because he truly believed in his words. 

And now, they were playing without him, and they were winning. They didn't need him after all. 

Number ten dunked again. 

It was too much, too little, not enough but completely overwhelming, something so far away, and yet so near, he could almost taste it, almost reach out and hold it in his hands and never let go, but it was too late for they were already winning, and he felt it, felt the truth around him, saw it with his eyes, felt it in his guts, knew that it was the truth and that nothing could beat it, not even a thousand MVP titles so why bother? why bother at all? and he felt smothered suddenly, like he couldn't breathe and he knew he had to get out, he had to escape and never return, never look back no matter what because there wasn't a place for him here anymore. 

He didn't belong. 

He wasn't needed. 

He choked on his tears as he hobbled away from the railings. He did it so quickly that he almost fell but he paid no attention. 

He turned and walked away.   
  



	2. One: Breathing Underwater

Chapter One: Breathing Underwater

And then there was light. It was too bright and I had to squint to make sense of my surroundings, but at least the darkness was gone. Light is good, because when there is light, the world becomes clearer. 

Or so it should be. 

There was a girl beside me. She was still asleep, her eyes closed, breathing steadily. She was too beautiful, her complexion clear, her face loaded with make-up, looking like a mannequin in a designer boutique, all too perfect, all too unreal. 

I was groggy. My head throbbed with pain and my mouth tasted like bile. There was light, but I didn't know where I was. The room I was in was alien and unfamiliar. The girl beside me - never saw her before in my life. 

Ignoring the fuzz in my brains, I pulled myself off the bed. 

And realised I was stark naked. 

"Jesus fucking christ!" I yelled. I turned to the sleeping girl on the bed and slapped her hard across the face, in a desperate attempt to wake her. Perhaps I used too much force, for her eyes immediately snapped open. 

"What is it?" Her voice, like her face, was gorgeous, a nightingale's lilt amidst a flock of crows' ugly cackling, but there was an undercurrent of nervousness and fear in it. 

It only served to unnerve me more. And when I'm alarmed, I go berserk. 

"Who the fuck are you? What did you do to me?" 

The girl held a hand to her face where I'd left a hand print. She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest, eyes widened, searching for the words that would wiggle her out of this. 

"I um," she began, her voice quivering, but I didn't give her a chance to finish. I lunged at her and pulled the blanket off her, causing her to shriek. 

That was when I realised it. But I needed a confirmation, because I didn't trust myself at the time; I was too out of it, too confused, my mind too foggy to trust. 

"Did we have sex?" 

The girl looked slightly incredulous as she hastily covered herself up. "Yes, you wanted my service last night, don't you remember?" 

Her voice. What was it about her voice? And her eyes. Round and big, like a porcelain doll's, too perfect to be real. 

What was it about her? I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Or maybe it was just a distraction. 

Wordlessly, without another glance at the strange girl in the foreign bed, I put on my clothes and dashed out of the room. 

***** 

According to Ryu, this was what happened: My buddies got me drunk the night before, they took me to a brothel, I wanted a girl, one thing led to another, and I ended up where I was this morning. I was still unkempt as I sat sprawled in Tetsuo's apartment, twirling a piece of my long hair around my finger, eyes fixed on a particular spot of nothing on the wall, struggling very hard to keep my eyes open and to let everything sink in. 

I tried, but it was all futile. Everything was still fuzzy and murky. Ryu's story didn't make sense. What happened this morning didn't make sense. Even my own breathing didn't make sense. 

Or maybe I simply didn't want to admit. 

"So, Mitchan, how was it?" 

Slowly, painfully, I turned my head to the source of the voice. It took me a few seconds to place the name 'Hotta' with the face. He was grinning suggestively, much like most of the people in the apartment, save for Tetsuo, who looked at me with a grim expression on his face. 

I forced a laugh. "Fucking awesome, man," I drawled, even though I couldn't even remember what happened. "Yeah. Just um. Great." 

"It was your first time, wasn't it?" 

Another voice, coming from another corner of the room. My neck was crying out in pain and agony as I turned my head yet again. This time, I couldn't place a name to the owner of the voice. 

I closed my eyes and let out a soft sigh. I wanted out of here. I wanted out of this room, with its four walls closing in on me, inch by inch, second by second, ever so slowly, dragging out the process, revelling in torturing me, and every face seemed to blur into one, or maybe it was my vision and the refusal of my brains to just fucking _work,_ or maybe it was everything, last night and this morning and right now combined, and it was just too much, way too much to take in at once. 

I realised that I had a question to answer. I struggled to remember it, but nothing formed in my mind. 

"Leave him alone, all right?" 

I knew this voice. I would know it even if I were amnesiac. It was Tetsuo. 

"Aw, Tetsuo, let's have a little fun with Mitchan! After all, he's just become a man!" 

"Shut up," Tetsuo said. His voice was frigid, his tone final. "He doesn't want to talk." 

And that was that. They dropped me from their conversation topic, somewhat begrudgingly. I looked at Tetsuo. My mouth was unable to form the words I wanted to say; they were stuck in my mind and I couldn't get them out. Hopefully, he got what I was trying to tell him. 

"You're welcome," he said. He sauntered over to me. "You okay?" 

I wasn't, but I nodded anyway. "Yeah," I mumbled. "I'm okay." 

***** 

I couldn't think. Not in the middle of a thousand voices shouting, screaming, yelling. Not in the middle of a noisy construction site. Not in front of the mirror, where I stared into a face of anger, hatred, agony. Not when I was me. 

So I didn't. I didn't think. I walked away from basketball and I didn't think. It suited me better this way. Thoughts were the very food of self-destruction, of depression, of negativity. It was easier to dive head-first into unknown waters and struggle when one began to sink. Maybe I was lucky, but I had always re-surfaced, every time I did something stupid. 

But I couldn't tell myself that things were okay, not after what happened last night. It didn't help that my mates seemed to think it was a big deal and that I should celebrate. I didn't know what was so fantastic about losing my virginity to a goddamned whore, of all freaking people. I was too zonked to go to school, so I cut, along with Hotta and the gang. I was too hung over to go home, so I stayed with Tetsuo, even while the others headed out to wreak some havoc. I wasn't up to anything. My long hair irritated me; it refused to get out of my face and it kept tickling my nose, whenever I bowed my head to attempt to reduce the ringing in my head. 

I just wanted to die. 

"Hey Mitchan, want a beer?" Tetsuo asked from the refrigerator. 

I groaned. "Jesus Christ, do I look like I want a fucking beer right now?" 

Even talking required effort. Lots of it. I didn't have any to spare. 

"I think you should go lie down." He was in front of me, towering above me, his face specked with the concern that he couldn't mask. Tough guy Tetsuo does have a soft side after all. 

"I _am_ lying down." 

"I meant on a bed. This couch is too small. Your legs can't even fit into it." 

_So what?_ I wanted to retort, just for the hell of it, but I didn't because my muscles have slackened. Lifting even a finger needed too much energy. 

"Idiot, I'll help you," Tetsuo said suddenly - or was it just my state of mind? - and hoisted me to my feet. He put an arm around my waist, I slung mine sluggishly over his shoulders, and we walked, slowly, as if the room were miles and miles away. 

"You know, if you keep at this, I'm gonna have to frigging drag you," Tetsuo muttered. "You're so damn heavy." 

"Shut up," I managed to say through gritted teeth. How far was the stupid room anyway? I should have stayed on the couch. 

"Here we are," Tetsuo announced, after what felt like many oeons stretched into eternity. He dumped me on the bed. "Enjoy." 

The instant my back made contact with the soft mattress I went to heaven. I closed my eyes, and then sleep was inevitable. I forgot about everything, even Tetsuo, and just let go. 

***** 

Everyone depended on me. They had their hopes pinned on me to make the winning shot, to encourage the team, to bridge even a 20-point gap. And I welcomed it. Fed off it in order to excel. 

But the eyes looking at me now were battered and discouraged, and there wasn't even the slightest glimmer of hope. I couldn't blame them. It was twelve seconds left and we were down by one. It would take a miracle to win this match.   
  
Still, I was Mitsui Hisashi. I was the captain of Takeishi Junior High's basketball team. I was a shoo-in for the Most Valuable Player award. If I couldn't do it, nobody can. 

That was what I told myself when I stole the ball from the opposing team, dribbled it down the court and drove towards the basket. I had my eyes set on the goal and only the goal. I didn't count on falling on the VIP table, and when I did, I gave the game up. 

It was Anzai-sensei who got me back on my feet. His words re-lit the hope that I had at twelve seconds. It was nine seconds now, and as I charged for the basket, the defenders who tried to block me but failed ceased to exist. Everyone else - my team-mates, the audience, the referee - faded into black; it was just me, the ball in my hand, and the hoop. Nothing else mattered, except making the winning shot. 

When I lifted myself off the ground and flicked the ball away from me, towards the basket, my arms shivering a little from anxiety above my head, I could swear that time stopped at that moment. Nobody breathed, nobody moved, nobody talked; all eyes were fixed on the ball, sailing towards the basket, its destiny and fate unknown to most. 

But I knew from the moment the ball left my hands that I'd got it. I saw the result clearly in my mind before I took the shot. I saw the result flashing in my mind after I took the shot. And when my mental image became reality, I was on top of the world. I was euphoric, jumping and screaming for joy in the middle of the court, surrounded by my team-mates yelling and sharing their joy. 

I felt that nothing could ever top that. 

And nothing ever did. 

***** 

Sometimes, dreams do have a significance. There has to be a reason why people dream in colour and black and white, and why conjured images in sub-consciousness almost always overlap with what happens in real life. I slept well, and yet I didn't. That 12 seconds from junior high was put on heavy rotation, and everything was exactly the way it happened, except it wasn't. It was a recurring nightmare with slight details altered everytime it repeated itself. The first time, everything was the same. The second time, I failed to get the ball and we lost. The third, I managed to get the ball, but I fell onto the VIP tables, but Anzai-sensei wasn't there to encourage me and we lost. The fourth time, I shot an airball and we lost. 

If I could interpret my dreams, I would. But I was just too fucking tired to. 

It was already night and I was still breathing underwater. I had to go home, although I would be satisfied if I could just lie on Tetsuo's bed and remain there forever. It was too much sometimes, the flak I got from my parents for almost flunking out of school. I just wanted them to shut up. 

Things never went well for those who hoped. They were all over my back the very second my right sneaker touched the cheap marble of our apartment. Their voices, pitched at a few hundred hertz, grated at my eardrums like knife slashing away at semi-permeable skin, their words pelted at my back, like empty gun shells dropping on a tired battlefield, and my hangover returned, its immediacy refusing to relent. 

"Where have you been?" they boomed. "Do you know how late it is? Why weren't you in school today? Have you been drinking? You're on drugs, aren't you? I told you Tetsuo was bad for you! Why didn't you listen to me? You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you know what's best for you, don't you? Don't kid yourself! You're still a goddamn child!"   
  
"And what is this?" they demanded, shoving a piece of paper in my face. "Care to explain?" 

I glanced at it. It was my Mathematics test. The 'zero' written in glaring red at the top of the page jumped out at me, and I could swear I saw it smirk. The paper was too pristinely white, the blanks too empty, for there wasn't even a single word scribbled on it. Not even my name. 

I had to say something, or they'd never leave me alone. "I fell asleep that day," I muttered. "Won't happen again." 

"Won't happen again?" they repeated with a considerable amount of incredulity in their tone. "Won't happen again? This is the twentieth test you 'fell asleep' on! At least make an effort to come up with a better lie! And please, do something about your hair, it makes you look like a gangster. How many times do I need to tell you to cut it? Do I have to drag you to the barber? You're already seventeen years old, turning eighteen in two weeks! For crying out loud!" 

First they said I was still a child, and then they accused me of being immature. If I didn't know any better, I would've expected them to dress me in diapers next. 

"Yeah, I'll cut my hair," I mumbled tiredly as I made my way to my room, past my parents' perfect painting of indignation and anger, past their overwhelming disappointment, and if I weren't so groggy, I would have heard the words uttered next: 

"I can't believe that's our son." 

***** 

A pit. A pitch-black abyss. It was quicksand abstracted, an idea that exists only in a void. A vacuum. I ran aimlessly, randomly, and I didn't see the rock that suddenly marred flat, level land. 

I tripped. I fell, head-first, into the pit. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound was produced. I clawed desperately at the the objects I was surrounded with, but I succeeded in clutching only air molecules. 

I was free-falling without a ripcord. And I could see no landing in sight. I was cold, so cold, but I couldn't warm myself up, no matter how tightly I wrapped my arms around my body. 

And then I realised it. I was dreaming. All I needed to do was to wake up, to purge this nightmare. 

But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, my eyelids stayed tightly shut. 

* * *

A/N: I had this written quite a while back. It has been quite sometime since I last went back to this fic. So the next update would probably be in twenty years' time. 

Swiftfire: O...kay. Mitchy is mine so I'm the one who's giving him a huggy wuggy. So. Back off. 

Mitchy: Oh my GOD!! MITCHY! IS THAT YOU DARLING?...Um, yeah. Anyway. Thanks. 

fizah: Awww so sweet. Thanks for the review. Who's Wui Ern and Sarah though? 

super rookie: You're being too nice. Really. My ego's already big enough. You don't have to feed it somemore. :) seriously though, thanks. I appreciate it. 

-Yelen, Mitsui's one and only love (red_knee_guard@lycos.com) 


End file.
